Does it look like its going to Storm to you?
by Mercurian Orchid
Summary: The two alpha males of the household have a run in as they beat their chests, and in the case of one, howl at the moon – or is that at Remy? Ororo has an uncomfortable exchange with Logan. Made worse by her self imposed gluttony… bear with me people,
1. Logantagonism

"So Ah've got nothing left tah say tah you!" The tempestuous brunette whirled on her heels – which could have ended in a nasty accident, Logan surmised, and stormed out of the room in an exit worthy of Scarlett O'Hara. Damn. And he'd wanted to know where Jubilee had got to as well. It had been ages since he'd seen the little mall rat. 

He sighed and was about to pick up his duffel bag and go to his room when he heard a whisper-quiet rustle from the doorway. He turned. Ororo stood there, one cloud colored eyebrow raised high. Logan had tried to get that expression before and had never been able to achieve it. He put it down to the fact than a man could only do one thing at a time, and therefore, the effort of raising one eyebrow, when keeping the other one down was just – well, too much effort really. "What?"

The smooth shoulders lifted in an imperceptible shrug, and an enigmatic little Mona Lisa smile played around her lips. Logan drew his lips back in his version of a smile – a version which would be at home on a Jack-o'-lantern, as he brushed past her, ramming her shoulder with his. He heard her quiet exhaled sigh as he stomped noisily up the stairs and grinned. 

The route up to his room was reminiscent of a quiet Grand Central station – if such a thing existed.. The first person he was encountered was Cyke, carrying a stack of books that was piled up to his chin. 

"Cyke." He bit out the word and it wasn't effusively filled with good will. 

"Logan!" Scott's voice was surprised and Logan felt uneasy, as he always did gazing into the mirrored glasses where he _thought_ Cyke's eyes were. "What are you doing back?" His voice had settled into a neutral, barely on this side of civil tone. 

"Thought I'd come and shake up things round here. You don' mind do ya?" All said in a way that he didn't give a flying fuck if Scott cared or not.

"Mind? Of course not. I'd be giving you a big bear hug if I didn't have these books in my arms." Scott replied in a saccharine tone. He shot Logan a tight little grin, and Logan replied in like, his lips shifting into a feral, predatory smile as the smell of roses and white musk curled around him like the most enticing of aromas. He looked up and encountered the green eyed gaze of the beautiful telepath. "Jeannie." He said in a low, deliberately husky voice. He saw the flush creep slowly up her cheeks like someone delicately painting them with colour, and saw a different flush altogether suddenly suffuse Scott's face. He turned, brushed past her, making sure to deliberately brush her arm with his bare hand as he passed, and didn't miss the low, almost…why, manly growl that Scott gave. Both his eyebrows quirked in surprise at that, and he almost missed the smell of cigarette smoke, mingling with some expensive, shit-smelling cologne. He looked up at the stairwell, and encountered a steady red on black gaze. Biting down a curse, he strode up to the tall, lanky man. "Gotta problem, bub?"

"Non. Remy jus' watchin' de Wolverine make his grand entrance." The perfect lips curled into something, a mix between a sneer and a smirk. A combination that served to inflame Logan. 

"What kinda stupid _fuck_ speaks about himself in the third person, Gumbo?"

"I be Remy le Beau, _chere. _I heard so much about de famous Wolv-"

"That's enough, Remy." Ororo's voice carried clearly to the two faced in a stand off on the stairs. Remy smiled slowly at Logan, never taking his eyes off him. 

"Sorry, chere. Jus' makin' de Wolverine m'amie." 

Logan leant close to the tall Cajun. "I aint your friend, Gumbo. People like me don' associate with the likes of –"

"Logan, I take it you and Remy have been getting acquainted?" Ororo said in a bemused voice, climbing the stairs towards them. "Who the fuck is this Swamp Rat?" Logan bit out. 

"Remy has come to us from New Orleans, Logan. He goes by the name of Gambit. He has the power to charge inanimate objects, and-"

"I be de master poker player."

"And yer so fuckin' modest too." Logan brushed past the both of them, all he was wanting to do was lie down, sleep, preferably not wake up if everyone was going to bitch like hell at him.

He heard Ororo say to Remy, "he's a little hot-tempered, Wolverine. Just stay out of his way for a bit, Remy, let him get used to you." She touched his arm in a comforting gesture, and Logan stifled a snort. Like that swamp rat needed 'Ro's sympathy. 

"No problem 'dere Stormy, as long as he stays out of my way, evry'ting will be fine." The Cajun grinned down at Ororo, and clasping her hand, led her down the stairs, dipping her once in an effusive gesture to land her on the ground.

Logan watched all this with narrowed eyes, and the growing feeling that he and the Cajun upstart were not going to get along at all. 


	2. Love Scene Number Nine

I kind of don't like how Jean is portrayed in a lot of fics (and I know I've probably been guilty of it before too.) so I wrote a small Ro/Jean interaction scene here. I'm building this up slowly, so bear with me. Ta. Thanks for the kind reviews. And, uh, I have no idea where this is heading in terms of pairings.

Ooh, disclaimer – I own none (and nothing) and am just using already invented characters for my own amusement. Mwahahaha. No, but really.

Chapter 2

The Danger room was just how he'd left it. Spotless, and looking like no one had spilt a drop of blood since time began, although he knew that wasn't true, having seen rogue zooming around with all the pent up aggression that the southern belle was wont to have. It hadn't made him feel any better that the so-called 'enemy' she was fighting had looked remarkably like him from a distance. He hadn't really wanted to venture too close to find out however, one run in with rogue was enough until tomorrow morning. 

"Scenario?" The computerized voice had been input by Scott, and grated on his nerves. He'd tried to find some way of overriding the system and changing the voice, but hadn't been able to. 

"Nine." He shrugged. Scott had computerized them by both number and enemy, but Logan, liking the challenge of the unknown hadn't bothered to memorize them. Hopefully whatever he picked had a situation with Scott in it, where he could slice him and dice him as fine as – damn. The room went totally pitch black for a few seconds and then lightened slightly. Fuck, he could remember this one. 

Vaguely.

If he recalled it right, he'd tried to take on this scenario when slightly affected by the damage that cocktail of morphine, alcohol and a bad mission was guaranteed to produce – even in someone like him with pretty much quick-fix heal. And if he recalled it right he hadn't come out prancing around the winner's dais on this one either. Actually, if he really did want to remember it all with horrid clarity he could recall Ororo's appalled face as she came across his damaged body curled up in a corner. Ororo, looking really, _really_ pissed off – whether at him for disobeying all of Charles, Jean's and her orders, or just at how the situation impinged on her life in general – having to get up in the middle of the night and save his half-baked ass. 

Ororo with all the vengeance of thunder and rain. Ororo with lightening streaming like water down her arms as she crackled with incandescent energy. Two sentinels that in his hazy mind had been made to look like rag dolls as she had flung them across the room with a seemingly negligent flick of her fingers and a rush of tornado-like wind. 

And then that one moment that had nudged idly at his memory while he had been away. It always seemed to crop up at the most inopportune of times. 

Like now. 

Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated on the dimness in from of him. He unsheathed his claws slowly, so as not to make a sound. And of course, because he was a sadist and enjoyed the pain that revealing his claws gradually seemed to bring. The only sound that punctuated the silence was a slow and steady dripping noise. From what, he didn't know. Didn't care, he convinced himself. 

His eyes narrowed even further, so that his short spiky eyelashes intruded somewhat on his vision, and he tensed his body. Turning smoothly on the balls of his feet his claws ran through a body sheathed in a light metallic casing. A Sentinel. The feel of his claws going in had the comforting feeling of home for him. It was like watching a filleting knife slice through softened butter. 

He was grabbed by behind, and he rammed his elbow back only to bite back a curse as it hit metal. Fuck. He felt wide fingers go round his neck and as he reached up to drag them away he nearly scooped his eyeball out with his own claws. Ha. Scott may have made it safe scenarios, but he couldn't do anything about people's own stupidity. He saw advancing on him in the near darkness another three Sentinels, and wondered what the hell he'd had for lunch that had made him so belligerently confident that he could take on a scenario so soon after coming back, with no training and no combat for five months. Maybe it was a huge serving of jack ass, he thought gloomily as one of them grabbed his foot, and another trapped his arm behind his back before he could slice them and dice them as fine as – Oh shit. He saw the fist coming but it was so fast he couldn't prepare himself. He felt like he had just inhaled his own lungs as all the wind was punched out of him. 

Ororo and Jean watched from the observation room. "Do you think..." Jean began.

"No." Ororo said calmly, although she ran a nail along the wooden armrest, and hunched he shoulders up slightly more as she leaned forward. She deliberately scored the wood and then lifted her fingers and began playing with the small silver lightening bolt earrings she had taken off and were now sitting on the control panel. 

"But 'Ro, look at him. He's so outnumbered – he could really get himself hurt." Jean bought a piece of red hair up to her mouth and nervously began chewing it. "Jean – do you _want_ to look like Raggedy Anne?" Ororo slung a cursory glance at her friend, who narrowed her eyes slightly and stuck out her tongue. Ororo half smiled, but her concentration was still on the tableau unfolding beneath her. "I saw that." She pulled her hands back again and sat on them. Of course if anything did happen to Logan, she could have done something to stop it – she would be responsible – wouldn't she?

Jean shifted slightly and bought her chair closer too. "You were meant to. Do you think if anything happens he'll leave again?" 

"Goddess, Jean. You're always moving to the worst case scenario these days."

"I think its PMS or something, 'Ro." Jean said it so seriously that Ororo snickered lightly. "It's true!" She hit her friend lightly on the arm. "I always get all morbid and depressed just before my-" She was interrupted by a loud curse and a crash from below. Logan had fought one of the Sentinels off and his claws were unsheathed again. He ran another one through and going into a crouch kicked one foot out in an impossible looking martial arts move, spinning around on his other foot to down two more. "Well, it looks like Wolverine has got his second wind back." Ororo observed shortly, standing, relieved she hadn't done anything to interfere.

"Speaking of wind 'Ro, the gossip around her is all about you and Remy."

Ororo turned back towards Jean who had an artfully innocent air permeating from every pore. Keeping her face expressionless she replied, "That had nothing to do with wind, Jean." 

"Yeah it did. You know. Gossip on the wind – "

"Heard it on the grapevine?" 

"Yeah, that kind of thing." Jean shrugged, and pushed her teammate back down. "So?"

"So, nothing, Jean. Remy and I knew each other from a way back. We have a few things in common. And that makes us destined to be a couple?" 

"Well, no. But you have to admit 'Ro, he's gorgeous." She nudged her friend, and when Ororo turned and pinned Jean with a look that promised all hell would break loose if she didn't desist from this line of trajectory _immediately_, she groaned and stood, stretching. 

"Jesus, 'Ro. I love you and all, but you need to loosen up. When was the last time you cut loose and let your hair out, princess?"

"I don't have time for that, Jean."

"Yeah you _do_. We haven't had anything happen that counts as even vaguely hostile in the last six months or so. You know, we should just make it a you and me thing. I feel I'm losing you in the X-Men 'Ro."

"You are an X-Man, Jean."

"Yeah, and you're not _the_ X-Men, 'Ro. Now – as our training session has been usurped by the slicing, dicing canine down there," Ororo raised an eyebrow at this, "lets go to the gym. And work out." She began walking out of the room, the spandex of her X-Men uniform molding a slender body that did not have an ounce of misplaced flesh. "Or maybe cake and coffee sounds like a better option?" she craned her head around to look at Ororo who was still looking down at Logan, who was now breathing hard and settled down in a corner, his arm resting across one bent knee. " 'Ro.." she sing-songed. "Mmm. Cake I think. We'll work out tomorrow. After all, it wasn't our fault that Logan doesn't have a clue about the timetable." She raised her crystal blue eyes to Jean's sparkling green ones, and smiled rather guilelessly. She stepped away from the window. 

Jean tipped her head to the side and pretended to study Ororo carefully.

"Why, I do believe there's a possibility there, Miss Perfect…"

"In your dreams."

"One can always hope." Linking arms with Ororo she dragged her out of the room, with the enticing promise of chocolate icing, and lots of it.

Making his way up to the control booth he looked accusingly at his own skin which bore none of the hardships of his fight. That was one thing that occasionally got to him. When someone sported a fantastic black eye, you knew he'd been in a fight. Bruises everywhere? What a man. A busted lip? Cuts encrusted with someone else's blood? (Of course it wasn't your own). Logan bore none of these battle scars. His skin was as unmarked as ever. Sometimes he wanted someone to notice and say, 'Shit, Logan, looks like you took a killer blow there.' 

Pushing the door open, he saw the lights on, and two chairs pulled close to the window. He narrowed his eyes again and glanced around as if waiting for a Sentinel to jump out at him. 

He puffed out his breath, felt his ribs give way a little more, and sank into one of the chairs. "End scenario nine."

"Confirm end scenario. Confirm end training?" He unsheathed his claws. If he could stab that computerized voice he would. "No you fuckwit, I want to go back down an' get myself pulverized all over again." He muttered. The aloud he said, "Confirm." As a retaliatory strike he swept his hand, claws unsheathed across the control panel. The clinking sound of metal hitting metal made him look down. He squinted slightly, grinned, and bent, and with a claw delicately lifted the small silver object and lifted it close to his face. Well, well, well. The Wind Rider was obviously here. He looked around at the two chairs. With someone else. He picked up the second earring and pocketed them both. Probably that Cajun bastard, smirking at how shoddy his fighting had been. And he'd probably seen him get felled by the four Sentinels who'd surrounded him. And he'd probably never hear the end of it. Swearing under his breath he made his way out and snapped off the lights, leaving the chair that he'd kicked spinning silently in the darkness. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Does It Look Like its Going to Storm to You? – Chapter 3**

Remy, borne along on the errant wings of mischief had found himself meandering along the corridor which housed the door to Logan's lair. It was just coincidence. No, well, actually, if he thought about it with an honesty that was just slightly foreign to his thieving ways, it was because Wolverine annoyed him. More like aggravated him to the point where Remy had no qualms in snooping around his room.

He tried the door, and not surprisingly it was locked.

"Dat would jus' be underestimatin' the enemy, now, wouldn't it?" He murmured to himself, eyes sparkling something indecent as his long slender fingers dove into his pocket , rummaged around for a few seconds and then with a grimace of pain, withdrew a long slender platinum pick lock, and looked balefully at the finger which now had a drop of blood welling up on it.

Irrationally he found himself blaming Logan.

"Remy." He turned and dropped the lock pick so that half was laying flat against his palm and half was concealed by the depths of his trench coat.

"Why if it isn't the trés belle Kat'rin." Kitty regarded him with narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Kitty always affected indifference where Remy's charm was concerned. It worried him slightly. Remy shrugged nonchalantly. "Lookin' for Logan."

"And here I am, bub." Remy's face only drained of colour a little as out of the corner of his eye he could see Logan framed in the now open doorway, both arms above his head. He wasn't smiling. Admittedly, if the situation had been reversed, and it had been Logan knocking at Remy's door, he wouldn't feel all that pressed to be welcoming.

"Dere you are." Remy echoed , and stepping back a bit dropped the lock pick in his pocket, wincing as it made a soft clinking sound. He chanced a glance at Logan who was now grinning at him. Not nicely either.

Kitty just shook her head. "Well, Prof wants you down in the control room after lunch today."

"Moi?" Remy experienced a pang of uneasiness.

"Me as well?" Logan raised both his eyebrows.

"Both of you." She began to phase back into Bobby's room.

"Yeah. Hey Kitty? What you doin' there in Ice Cube's room?"

"Studying, Logan. What else would we be doing?" She phased through completely with a hiccupping giggle that was cut short by the wall.

"Yeah, whatever." Logan grumbled, and then started towards Bobby's door when he heard laughter and Bobby's attempts to quieten Kitty.

He walked back into his room, leaving the door open. Normally, that was a very inviting position for a door to be in Remy's experience, but now he felt the distinct chill of a 'walk to your doom' air around the whole situation.

"You coming in?" Logan turned to face Remy and popped his claws with a loud 'snikt'.

"Dat sounds like you be threat'nin' moi." Remy laughed lightly, but watched Logan carefully. He wasn't entirely joking.

Logan laughed as well. A small huffing sound. To Remy's ears it didn't sound like it came naturally to him either.

He walked it, seemingly uncaring, but in truth, he felt uneasy about this. Hell, he felt uneasy about Logan. Remy was normally pretty good at pegging people, but Logan was a bit of an anomaly to him.

"So you wanted to talk?" Logan was all Lone Ranger, sitting in his chair by the window, the sun framing his head and making it hard to read his expression.

"Not if I want to get blinded, mon amie." Remy retorted, shielding his eyes from the glare. Even if his expression was hard to read, the sudden glinting of teeth was unmistakable, and Remy balancing himself up against the wall was intrigued.

They hadn't sorted out any of their differences. Remy wasn't any closer to understanding Logan then he had been before entering his room. Logan had used the opportunity to educate Remy, in not a quiet voice either, about the privacy of others. This was much to the amusement of Bobby and Kitty who had walked by and stared agog, until Bobby, catching a glimpse of Logan's expression hurried them past.

He just kept on and on and on about it. It reminded Remy of midnight mass. With a really boring priest. Of course he heard the lock pick. He smelt Remy a mile off before he'd actually got the lock pick out of his pocket. This started a tangential line of thought for Logan. If Remy wanted to go round smelling like a combusted perfumery, that was his choice, but don't assault _his_ nose with it.

Remy tried to counter all this by saying that Logan's door was the only one that had been locked, and if he couldn't pick a locked door here, how was he going to keep his skill up to date? It was all about continuing education. Logan understood the need for that, didn't he? And as for his cologne, just because he didn't relish smelling like blood, sweat and dirt, yes, that was his choice. Logan could just shove nose plugs up his nostrils if his nose was that sensitive. Rogue had come by at that moment, ready, it seemed to have a civil conversation with Logan, and Remy, thankful for the interruption had sidled out feeling like a chastised school boy. Just because the Wolverine was old and mouldy, he thought bitterly as he slunk down the stairs.

After lunch he had followed Logan to the professor's door. H didn't want to strain whatever they had building so he kept silent most of the way over, and Logan occasionally shot him a suspicious look. He just splayed his hands palm upwards.

Charles cast a brief eye over both of them and the gestured that they be seated.

"Welcome back, Logan. It's becoming to be our little ritual, these comings and goings of yours."

"Thanks." Logan ignored whatever else the professor was trying to say. He was never good at reading between the lines. It wasn't a skill he was busting a gut to perfect either.

"Look, I don't want to keep you gentlemen here any longer than necessary. I need you both to take a trip. To Long Island. On Saturday. Nothing big. There's just going to be a FOH rally there. I want you to scout the place. Get the feel for what's the general populace's way of thinking towards mutants."

Logan had been staring intensely at Remy, and Remy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "With him?"

Charles Xavier shrugged and smiled beneficently at him. "What can I say? Remy has the gift of the gab, and will get you out of trouble when you need to be talked out of it, Logan. I want you to work together. I think you complement each other well. I just don't want any shows or heroics. You need to keep a low profile."

"That's what I'm best at, Chuck. But the New Orleans one-man vaudeville show over here? I don't think that's his strong point."

"That's why you're there, Logan. Now, I don't need anyone else knowing about this. Scott and Jean and the others are taking a well deserved break from this kind of activity, and I'd like to keep it that way for a while."

"OK." Remy shrugged dismissively.

Logan grunted out what sounded like an agreeing sound to all of them.

As thy walked out, Remy fell into step with Logan. "So, de both of us. On de campaign trail together. Who knows, you might even get to like me." Logan smirked and him, and didn't slow down his step.

"Don't push your luck, Gumbo." And he moved on, leaving Remy surrounded with that faint aroma of blood, sweat and dirt.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, and Ororo had the distinct feeling it was all her fault. She knew, gut instinct had told her, that having a second piece of the vegan chocolate cake was a mistake. But it was just so damn good, and she was such a sucker for punishment. She had dropped Jean off at Scott's door and made her way to the TV room to collapse on one of the large overstuffed chairs that the school had ordered last Christmas. She remembered that they'd got the idea when sitting like stuffed pythons on the uncomfortable second hand crap they'd bought at a charity thing.

She couldn't even move, but was eyeing the remote on the table, knowing that if she just slouched forward a couple of inches more she could get it and then reverse back into her position.

Her eyes narrowed as the remote was swept from her line of sight, and the TV flickered on, and then the volume turned up. On...what the hell was it? She flinched at the sight of a man launching himself into the air and then landing on another equally unsavoury looking fellow beneath him. Class.

She turned her head without moving her body and could see the profile of the person sitting next to her. She closed her eyes. She really wasn't in the mood for Logan right now. She had thought long and hard about this and realised that she had to be one of two moods when talking with Logan. One was extremely charitable, because then, everything that he said could be taken with a grain of salt. The other was extremely angry, because then anything _she _said could be dismissed as said in the heat of...err...the fight.

She slid another covert glance at him, and was surprised to meet his assessing gaze.

"Big afternoon?" It was said neutrally, and without interest. Ororo could tell that he didn't really care if he got an answer.

"Cake." She exhaled the word on a sigh, and laid a hand on her slightly distended stomach. Logan just grunted and turned his head back towards the television.

"You?"

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that. I kept myself occupied." His glance at her this time was slightly sour, with narrowed eyes and a smirk.

'I imagine that you would have." She tried to haul herself off the chair but because her centre of gravity had moved with that additional cake she'd eaten she collapsed back in the chair. Logan snickered. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he avoided her eyes. "Something funny?"

"TV." He inclined his head. She inclined hers, and watched silently for a couple of seconds. "Mmmm. Very funny, Logan."

"Keeps me amused." He shrugged. He turned to her. "Have you heard anything about this FOH gathering on Long Island?"

"No. When is it?"

"I'm not really sure." He hedged, "I just thought there were rumblings of it being cooked up when I was on my way back down."

"From your trip."

"Yeah. What of it?" He looked at her sharply.

"Nothing. Nothing." She held her hands up appeasingly. He held her glance for a short moment, and then turned his attention back to the TV.

She got up to leave, shaking her head inwardly. Surely, there must be some way to engage Logan in normal conversation, but she hadn't found it yet. She was halted by his voice. "You left these." He wasn't looking at her, and she saw the glint of silver in his curled up palm. Shit. Shit. Shit. "Thanks." She didn't ask where he had found them, and was unsure of whether the protocol demanded she say anything about his danger room session. "You were good. I was surprised. You haven't had any training for a while, and that's one of the hardest scenarios."

"Thanks. Next time you and Gumbo want a repeat performance, remind me that I should sell tickets." He bit out.

"I wasn't with Remy." Her voice was puzzled and he raised his eyes to hers, his brown ones glimmering. She was telling the truth. "Well, whatever." He said and slightly embarrassed but not wanting to show it, he broke her gaze. She shook her head and walked out of the room. "Strange." He heard her mutter. "Very strange."


End file.
